


You Could Be Happy

by lookingforatardis



Series: Hammer Lodge [3]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Companion Piece, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 23:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19094965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/pseuds/lookingforatardis
Summary: Companion piece to Ode to the Boy I Love. The time spent apart, but Timmy's POV. *Read Notes*When he'd heard my full story, he held me close and told me he needed to be with someone emotionally prepared to be in a relationship. I called the lodge one night, desperate for anything to remind me it wasn’t in my head. It wasn't even Viktor on the other end, the voice unfamiliar and warm with false kindness. I called again. Again. Again.





	You Could Be Happy

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had this idea for MONTHS- it started out as thinking about how lost Timmy must have felt the first time he woke up with someone who wasn't Armie and spiraled from there. It originally was just a way for me to understand Timmy's character better, and became a way to explain some of Timmy's side of this (because Armie is so enamored with him that he forgets sometimes that Timmy spent all that time without him, too). I've warred with myself over when to publish this because chapters 7 and 8 have details that are in this, but I think it might give yall some insight moving forward to Timmy and give more meaning to some of his actions with Armie in the next handful of chapters. 
> 
> I wanted this to be structured much in the same way that Ch.1 of Ode was, so it's sort of a series of snapshots that move throughout the time period. It's 99% angst, folks. You've been warned.
> 
>  
> 
> _Title is from the Snow Patrol song by the same name! ___

“You’re awake.” The voice cuts through the silence, my eyes slipping shut at the sound. His bed is stiff, unfamiliar, cold as I sit on the edge with most of my weight on one side to ease some discomfort I can’t help but feel. “You alright?”

The air is stale as light attempts to peak through the heavy curtains he keeps covering his windows. I nod, watching dust float in the sneaky sunbeams on the floor. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Some.” I don’t quite recognize my voice anymore.

“Was it not…” There’s a hesitation in his voice when it comes through, a dryness I suspect as he clears his throat. My shoulder feels achy; I roll it and tilt my head to stretch, eyes stinging from staring at nothing for too long. I blink and turn to look at him, smiling softly.

“It was _great_ , Ian. I just can’t sleep if I’m in not in my bed.” He smiles back and nods, shifts so his arm folds behind his head on the bed, his legs stretching out under the covers. My eyes skim along his body and I fight the sigh threatening to slip out between us. Grey eyes, almost blue in the light. I take a deep breath.

“You wanna stay? For awhile?”

“I have to get going… Class, you know.”

“Dinner then? Come on, please?” I bite back the wave of nausea creeping up suddenly and crawl over to kiss his lips. It’s not fair to him to withdraw after this, not after he was so careful to take things slow when I dragged my feet. 

“Okay, dinner. Pick a place, I’ll be there.”

“Mm, okay baby.” My smile turns tight at the nickname. We hadn’t talked about it yet, but it wasn’t something I wanted. Not from him, not from anyone really. It didn’t feel quite right, especially considering how long we’d been dating. I think of _him_ and straighten, stand, pull my pants on, push him away.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” I say, tying my boots and gathering the rest of my things before leaving.

 

 

Ian had asked me if I was okay too many times before it mattered, maybe not enough times when it did, his body too heavy but not heavy enough when he fell asleep with an arm over me that I had to escape a few hours later.

It was a betrayal, his moans sinking deep into my bones to cover the memories that were starting to fade. I can’t focus, can barely breathe in class. His number changed. It had been well over a year, I shouldn’t still feel so much guilt for trying to move on. Still, it’s his emails I read, reread, reread again until my name is called and I fumble through an answer that doesn’t really matter anyway. Rehearsal for the next play passes in a haze, the only thing I can use to escape reality.

Ian kisses me when he sees me at dinner and I can almost pretend it doesn’t remind me of _him_. He asks me again if I’m okay, rubs the back of my hand with his thumb. He has kind eyes and cares more about me then I feel he probably should. “You weren’t a… you know… you _said_ you weren’t…” I fight the urge to roll my eyes and opt to shake my head instead.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Okay… I just thought—”

“I didn’t lie to you. You’re the second person.  It’s just… been a really long time.” I take a sip of water and try to smile so he stops worrying. I want to like him more. He has potential.

My food doesn’t taste right, my hands feel too dry when I rub them together. He asks again if I’m okay and I very nearly walk out to avoid him analyzing me. He walks me home, his hand in mine, and kisses me in front of my place. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. I nod, thankful that if nothing else, his worrying will allow me a night to myself.

My roommate Daniel is playing video games, barely glances up when I enter. I walk straight back to my room to the dresser, slink out of my clothes as I open drawers. It starts building more rapidly, the pain in my chest. I pull Armie's old shirt on over my head and catch my breath at the instant comfort before eyeing the too-big hoodie and taking it as well for good measure. Under the blankets, I know I will be warm enough without it; I turn a small fan on in the corner of the room and push my arms through the worn sleeves, pull the collar up to my nose, pretend I can still smell him lingering as I collapse into bed.

It couldn’t go on like this forever. There had to be a day when I’d want to fool around with someone for the hell of it, when I’d want to fall in love again.

 

 

 

 

Ian didn’t last much longer. I couldn’t blame him really, and when he’d heard my full story, he held me close and told me he needed to be with someone emotionally prepared to be in a relationship. I called the lodge one night, desperate for anything to remind me it wasn’t in my head. It wasn’t even Viktor on the other end, the voice unfamiliar and warm with false kindness. I called again. Again. Again.

The summer passed before I heard him, his voice like a lifeline on my periodic late night calls to the lodge. “Hammer Lodge, This is Viktor. How can I help you today?”

“ _Vik_ ,” I startled, nearly dropping my phone. “Vik, it’s me, it’s Timmy!” I hear an intake of breath and wait. A cough.

“Of course. Let me just check in the back, can you hold?”

“I—Vik, it’s _Timmy_ —” the line cuts off and I stare at the walls of my bedroom, eyes wide and heart racing. I nearly hang up before I hear a jostling on the other end.

“Man, you really shouldn’t be doing this,” I hear, quieter, less background noise.

“You gotta help me, Vik. I need his number.”

“I can’t…” My eyes sting as the air sputters out of my lungs. I can feel it, the last string of hope snapping. “He’s finally happy, Tim. I can’t do this to him. Your number keeps coming up on records, you gotta stop calling. My Dad could have answered, he was right there!”

“Vik— _please_ , man.”

“He’s seeing someone and he _really_ likes him, Timmy. This is the first time he’s seemed normal.” The thrumming in my veins turns cold. Breathing becomes a conscious effort, my hand covering my mouth as if to feel the breath puffing against it, my fingers gathering the moisture I don’t realize slips from my eyes. “I’m sorry, man. He’s finally doing better, I can’t…”

“I understand,” I nod, eyes closed tight to keep myself in check.

“If I thought it wasn’t going to last with this guy I would—”

“It’s okay,” I manage. “It’s um, I understand. I get it.”

“Timmy, I’m really sorry—”

“Yeah. Um…listen,” I breathe, voice cracking. “Just um. Just make sure he’s happy you know.” I pull the phone away to breathe, my shoulders shaking as I attempt to regain some control.

“Of course.”

“Man, I uh, I need to go—”

“I’m so sorry, Timmy. You know he would want you to be happy, too.”

“Yeah,” I nod, eyes tight as a new wave of emotion hits. “Yeah, I know. Um. Have a good night.”

“Timmy—” I hang up a moment before a sob pulls me apart before I can’t fight it anymore and lose the battle I didn’t realize I’d been fighting.

 

 

 

The tour had been a welcome surprise. I was gaining some sort of fanbase in the city, but I didn’t think I had gathered the attention of anyone overseas. An old contact from the summer before college had kept tabs, apparently. My parents threw a party when we got the news, the traveling show a huge step towards getting my name into more hands.

The support I was given was insane. It’s almost over now, a part of me aching for it never to end. I can’t deny that being on the road with a challenging show has given me a rush nothing else has in years. There was something about the temporary that appealed to me, everything an open ended sentence with promise.

I met a man in England during the short stay there, let him make me feel something. When he said goodbye, it didn’t hurt like I thought it would. Maybe goodbyes don’t matter as much when you grow up.

“You ready to go home?” Pauline asks, ruffling my hair. I smile and nod before leaning against her shoulder.

“It’s been a long tour.”

“I’m so proud of you, though,” she says with a kiss on my head. “You’re a star, little brother.”

“Ahhh, no I’m—”

“You _are_. Soon everyone’s going to know.” I smile, knowing I won’t win against her in an argument. She helps me with the last of my things before calling a cab to the airport. She’d been living in Paris for quite some time and decided to return to the states with me after my play wrapped. It was nice to see so much of her, she always did ground me more.

I do one last check of my passport and wallet, opening it to find a folded up sheet of paper with his words on it before placing it back in the folds carefully and slipping it back into my pocket. “Oh, Timmy.” I glance up, eyes wide. “Tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”

“Leave me alone, Pauline.” I sigh as I reach down to sling my backpack over my shoulder and grab my suitcase.

“I just worry—”

“I know. It’s okay, I’m doing okay. It’s just a comfort thing, it’s not a Him thing.” Judging by the look she gives me, I can tell she doesn’t quite believe me. I mean it, though. It started as a Him thing, but it evolved. It was habit more than anything, just a tick. Read it before a show, it was just habit.

 

 

 

The fans are the craziest part. Sometimes I wake up and forget, walk to work, and startle when someone recognizes me. It happened nearly overnight and I wasn’t sure what triggered it, but Daniel thought it was fucking hilarious. It got me laid a few times as I started getting booked more. It felt like a dream that never ended, just suspended in some alternate reality. It was everything I’d ever wanted, honestly. More than I’d ever thought was possible.

I started dating a little when the last show ended, something missing in my life. I thought that was it, and when I met Ethan nothing could convince me otherwise.

He smiles at me like he always does when he catches me staring. His eyes always take my breath away—where the rest of him is solid and sure, they have a sort of softness that calls to me. I try to distract him while he answers emails, but he’s far too focused to cave.

I settle on reading my scripts instead, head on his shoulder while he types. I could get used to this, used to him.

 

 

 

 _This isn’t happening._ “Say something at least.” _Not happening, not happening, not happening._ “Tim.” I look up. I can’t seem to make the movement happen naturally—everything feels forced, tense, _wrong_.

“I don’t understand—”

“What don’t you understand?”

“You’re… breaking up with me?” I stare into his eyes until he looks away. His jaw is clenched.

“Come on, Tim. I can’t keep doing this with you.” I feel cold, was the room cold? My arms slip around my body, my feet staking to preserve warmth. “Don’t, don’t do that. Don’t be the victim here.”

“What are you _talking_ about?” I mutter, eyes falling when I realize he won’t look at me.

“This isn’t real, Tim.” I let out an exasperated huff of air and he squeezes my knee before sitting back, away from me. “You don’t want this.”

“Don’t tell me what—”

“It’s that guy, right? God, how many years has it been?” My blood runs cold. “Didn’t think I knew about him, right? Thought you’d kept him a secret.” I blink, blink again. He’s still there, staring at his hands, tortured smile on his face but it fades. Perhaps because I remain silent, though it’s hardly a choice.

“I almost didn’t care, you know? I could _almost_ convince myself it didn’t matter that you held onto letters from some ex, or that you refuse to get rid of clothes, or even, shit, even that you had a fucking _picture_ of him on the wall. But then I realized it was all the same guy.”

“Ethan—”

“How old were you?” I consider lying, but he looks resigned anyway.

“Seventeen.”

“ _Jesus,_ Tim! Since you were seventeen?”

“No! No, it was, it was only a few months—”

“That’s not what I _meant_.” His voice catches and I find myself surprised to realize he’s withholding his true reaction, _sparing_ me from whatever he’s truly feeling. I almost wish he wouldn’t. “You’ve been in love with some guy since you were seventeen and you never, I don’t know, thought to _do something_? You just let it sabotage everything else?”

“I’m not…” He laughs. Outright laughs at me.

“Look, I’ve spent the past eight months being the second choice to a guy who isn’t even in your life, the least you can do is be honest.”

“You’re not!”

“Look me in the eyes right now and tell me you haven’t thought about him since we got together.” I sputter out a breath. I’m an actor, this shouldn’t be this hard. He laughs but its humorless and cold, detached. Nothing like I’ve ever heard from him before, and it scares me. “I could almost forgive you for this, Tim.”

“But you won’t.” I don’t ask, I know. I can see it in his eyes that this is the last straw, his final escape. I’d fight him more but the amount of men who’d made me feel like shit for not being able to forget Armie over the years left me feeling hollow. I was tired. I couldn’t do it anymore. I’d spend too many years burying him in the past and desperately avoiding any reminder of him at all costs. Ethan was the first man I thought I could move on with, _really_ move on. His eyes were so similar, his height not quite there, but he was different and it felt like purging Armie out of my system the first time he kissed me. I’d convinced myself for a long time that he was purging me from the memories each time he fucked me as well. It wasn’t until I woke up to him one day that I realized he’d only managed to make it worse.

“You don’t make time for me. You’re never around and when you are you don’t give a shit about me.”  
“Ok.” I can’t fight anymore, maybe I’m meant to be alone after all. Nothing I say will make him forgive me, this is over. Might as well end it quickly, I think.

“ _Okay_? God, this is what I mean. You don’t give a shit about me! I’m just some _stand in._ You’re _never_ going to be happy!” He’s gathering his things from my apartment, the few things he has here that is. I watch him, tears stinging at my eyes against my will. “You make all these plans and do all this stuff to feel better about yourself and at the end of the day you’re just alone. _Not_ because you have to be, but because you won’t let anyone close enough to you to notice the truth.” He turns sharply towards me and shakes his head. “You’re afraid you aren’t worthy of love. And maybe you’re right. You sure can’t keep a relationship going to save your life.” I shatter, the words slipping in through my ears and down into the very cells of my soul.

“Stop,” I mumble, I suppose, at least I know it wasn’t him who spoke but I heard it all the same.

“ _Stop_? You should, stop that is. Stop ruining other people’s lives. God! I was going to move in with you! Were you _ever_ going to even _try_ to give me a chance? Or am I just some, some _thing_ to you?”

“You’re not I swear to god, Ethan—I did try, I tried, I _tried_ —”

“I can’t even look at you,” he spits out. “How many guys have you gone through that came to this conclusion, huh? How many? All of them? Did I last longer, maybe I’m just stupid.”

“Stop, _please_ —”

“I wish I’d never met you,” he says. He’s blurry. I feel sick to my stomach and he’s shaking his head, his hands covering his face, my own covered in salty tears I can’t seem to stop. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he _should_ wish he didn’t meet me, maybe we did more damage than good. Maybe _I did more damage than good_.

I don’t see him leave, but I hear the door slam shut before I’m left alone.

I make it to the kitchen somehow and pour myself a glass of whiskey before wandering towards the bed with the bottle in hand. It almost seems fair that he’d leave me for this when the only reason I’d been drawn to him in the first place, if I’m really honest, is because he looked like him.

 

 

It’s three days before Daniel shows up at my door, insistent that I need to get out of the house before I spiral, his eyes concerned when he looks around and sees it’s already begun. He forces me to shower and drags me to a bar, let’s me complain about every single thing that Ethan did while we were together that I’d overlooked. He listens, tries to help me talk through it, but the liquor is cruel and fast in my system.

He tries to take my phone when it appears. “No no no, do not call Ethan. Timmy—do _not_ call him.”

“Not gonna call him,” I shake my head, trying to focus my vision.

“God, Timmy, come on, hand it over.” He tries to fight me on it for a solid minute before I stand and walk away, start wandering between groups. He settles for corralling me back to our booth instead of taking my phone away from where it sits clutched against my chest. I glare at him as I slump down and open my app back up, typing in his name.

“Oh Timmy. Don’t do this,” Daniel sighs. I guess he realizes what’s happening, but I don’t care. His face is there staring at me, older but _him_. “Tim. This won’t help.” I must start crying but I don’t remember deciding to, only realizing my vision gets worse as I try to look him up, frustrated his facebook reveals nothing. I find something, I don’t know what, but his face is there again smiling. It says he’s a junior editor—I angrily wipe my face and try to zoom in. “Help,” I mutter, nearly tossing my phone across to Daniel. “It won’t _zoom_ ,” I complain, head collapsing onto my arms on the table. I hear him sigh but it doesn’t really register.

Junior editor. So he did it then, he chased that dream. I start crying again, frustrated. I don’t know how long he’s been doing it. Did he write too? “Gimme,” I reach out for my phone, suddenly aghast at the name of the firm and how familiar it sounds. Daniel looks sad but hands the phone over. I try scrolling to look where he works, which office.

“He’s in New York,” Daniel says slowly, frowning when I look up at him. “Please don’t.”

“He’s _here_ ,” I say, trying to zoom in on his picture again. “Danny!”

“I know, Tim. I know.” He must get up at some point to get me water because suddenly he’s making me drink it while I look for more pictures and evidence of his existence.

“I should email him!” I say, looking up with a smile.

“Nope! Absolutely not!” he says, shocked as he darts over and grabs my phone before I realize what’s happening.

“Daniel!”

“I cannot let you do this,” he tells me, tense. “Timmy. I love you like a brother. You can’t do this, I can’t let you do this. You’re _drunk_ , you’re upset, I will not let you do something impulsive right now.”

He makes me go back home and puts me in bed.

When I wake up, it comes back in pieces while I regain consciousness. I stumble out of bed and walk to the kitchen, mouth dry as hell. “Jesus Christ!” Daniel is there making coffee, startling the fuck out of me. He smirks and grabs a glass of water for me as I slump against the counter. I thank him reluctantly and eye the eggs he pulls out of my fridge. “No?” he asks, seeing my reaction. I shake my head, feeling nauseous and hungover. He rolls his eyes but puts them back in the fridge. “Okay well you should try to eat something.”

“No,” I mutter, covering my eyes to shield away the lights.

“You should have had more water last night,” he says softly. He gets me to lay down on the couch where I guess he slept last night, and sits down with coffee for both of us, handing me my phone a moment later. I stare at him and he shrugs. “I didn’t trust you. How are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug, staring at my phone. So he’s in New York. That means he’s fucking close, closer than he’s been in years just wandering the streets I grew up on. I shudder out a breath and glance up with a weak smile.

“Maybe he doesn’t realize you’re still here.”

“No, no he would know. He doesn’t want to see me. He probably ended up with that guy,” I mumble.

“Timmy—”

“It’s fine,” I shrug, trying to smile more convincingly.

“Do you want me to drop it?” he asks, pity in his eyes. I think about Armie, about his life in this city I’m not privy to.

“Yes please,” I say quietly, gripping my mug and sipping the coffee, tucking my legs up. I can’t think about him, thinking about him will make it impossible to move on. I need to get over Ethan, need to stop holding on to Armie. I stare out my window and bite my lip, think about the auditions I had coming up. I needed to focus. Let go. I glance back at Daniel and smile sadly. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him, knowing he worries. We’d been friends since freshman year of college, and he was one of the only people who knew everything. We lived together for a long time until he moved in with his girlfriend a few years ago. “Go, Claire is probably worried.”

“She worries about you more than me,” Daniel chuckles. “Please think before you try to contact him,” he begs. I nod and let him out of my place before returning to couch, knowing if I email him and he doesn’t reply, I’d lose my heart all over again. It wasn’t worth it. Surely, he would have contacted me if he wanted to. Or Vik, he could have figured it out.

A few days later, it occurs to me that I’m just hiding from this all over again.

 

 

 

The lights flick on and off while Katie gives direction, waving at me as I walk in. We’d worked on a handful of things together; it was nice to see a familiar face on the first day. Things had gotten significantly better in the past few months and I’d found my rhythm again thanks to a charity I’d joined up with for acting classes while I waited for my next project. I felt the purpose coursing through me more when I stayed busy.

It’s a nice first day, all of us getting used to our roles and each other. The days all pass similarly, running into each other like the lines on pages as we work through memorization. When it gets closer to the start, rehearsals shift in tone like they always do. The first run-through we do goes poorly, but I’d done enough to know it didn’t mean much. I regroup, refocus, feel invigorated with the new challenge.

Close to the opening, rehearsals go super late. On a particularly shitty day, I grab a beer with Daniel and Claire afterwards to decompress and we laugh about college, the two of them newly engaged and reminiscing constantly. They want to get married in winter, but that’s all they’ve settled on. I pretend I don’t notice Daniel’s tight, sympathetic smile when she mentions ski lodges.

I can’t sleep for hours, barely getting anything in the way of rest before I give up. I watch the sun rise at the top of my building and scroll through social media. A post catches my attention, some story from a talk show about a couple who reconnected after twenty years when one of them found a letter tucked away in an old journal.

The sun is clouded in the sky, trying to rise among the skyscrapers. The blue of the sky on the other side of the city reminds me of his eyes. I check the time and see I still have hours before I have to go to the theatre. Maybe I’ll go grab breakfast somewhere.

I walk down to my apartment and pause at the door by the spot his picture used to hang. I’d thrown it away one night after Ethan threatened to throw it against the wall in a rage. I sigh and grab my laptop, knowing this is a terrible idea but doing it nevertheless; I just want to see him again, the him I fell in love with. It takes longer than I expect to remember my old password to my email from high school, but I get it eventually.

Determined to just find the picture quickly, I just click the most recent email without thinking. I glance at it for a moment, confused, then check the day. “Holy shit,” I mumble. My laptop nearly falls the floor as I stand, pace the room. “Holy _shit!_ ” I stare at it, heart racing. Months, I’d ignored him for _months_. Jesus, I count back to the breakup, to the timing. I nearly collapse, tears filling my eyes. God, idiot. _Idiot_. Why didn’t I check my email?!

With shaking hands, I walk over and sit on the floor, turn the laptop back towards me, and read.

It’s almost too much, his words reaching out over time. So he did think of me. He _did_ want to see me, he probably thought I wanted nothing to do with him. My stomach drops and I blame the emotion washing over me on the lack of sleep but I know it’s just him. I try typing out a number of replies before settling on one, biting my lip as I hit send. I feel sick to my stomach with nerves, hoping to _god_ he doesn’t think I’m mad at him or something.

It sinks in slowly.

An email, an email _from him._ Nerves cave to butterflies and I feel tears for another reason entirely. Hope blooms in my chest for the first time in so fucking long. I text Daniel, heart still racing minutes later.  It takes hours for me to calm down, at which point I have to go to the theatre. On break later in the night, I try logging in from my phone and feel my heart stop when I see a reply.

Grinning, terrified out of my goddamn mind, I click on it.

_Timmy,_

_Or should I be calling you Timothée now?_

I laugh, cover my face, the sound bubbling up out of my chest without permission as my eyes water. God, I missed him—it’s almost too much. I read through the rest of it and reread to make sure I didn’t miss a word. I feel lighter than I have in a long time just at the prospect of him out there thinking about me, smiling like I am because _finally_ something makes sense. I gather my strength and draft a quick reply, feeling the old itch to tease him running wild in my veins. _I can’t help it_. And it doesn’t matter suddenly that I’ve always taken a backseat, let other guys take the lead or flatter me. Because I remember a time when all he wanted was to feel like he belonged, and _fuck_ if he didn’t make me feel the same. Like waking up, I realize I’d been craving it all along.

I hit send, my chest tight as I look around at my surroundings. Everyone’s getting ready to go out or order food, dinner already arriving for some. My costars glance over at me and I can tell they’ll approach sooner rather than later to see if I want to grab food with them. I smile to myself realizing the pattern I’d fallen into of going with the flow, of the undeniable shift he brings to my whole world that no one ever could before.  

“What’s up with you?” Ross asks, venturing over with a smile. I shake my head and duck away from his attention, follow him and our other main costar out, look up at the city Armie shares with me.

It seems brighter, somehow.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW some of yall will never forgive me for the time apart, but it has so much meaning in this story. I fully anticipate some sadness or frustration with this, and I'll be in the comments to answer anything yall throw at me. I do think having some context is important though, not only on Armie's side but Timmy's as well. This will gain more meaning as you read on in Ode.


End file.
